


The Other Shoe

by rabidchild67



Category: White Collar
Genre: BAMF Neal, Crack, F/M, Het, Hurt/Comfort, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal is preggers. Diana is the other DNA donor. That’s gonna be some pretty baby, huh?</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/659276">The Other Half</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Shoe

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [The Other Half](http://archiveofourown.org/works/659276), but you do not have to read it to figure out what’s going on here. The story thus far: Neal and Diana are besties; when they simultaneously contracted a wacky, sex-changing flu, they made a pact to have sex with each other so they could see what it was like. This story picks up the day after Neal wakes up in his usual body.

**Week 1**

“Oh my God – say that again?” 

Neal looked across the desk at Peter, who was speaking with his friend and former colleague on the phone. “You are shitting me. What do the doctors say?”

 _Doctors?_

During this time when men were turning into women and women into men due to some crazy, out of this world virus, any talk of doctors was enough to pique anyone’s interest. Neal listened more intently to the rest of Peter’s conversation, which was far from illuminating.

“No… No! When are you…? I see. And what’s Rachel say? Uh huh… uh huh… well, congratulations? Is that the right word here? Good, congratulations then. Of course, um… no, you go, I get it. I’ll call you later.” Peter hung up the phone and shook his head, a very surprised and puzzled expression on his face.

“What was that all about?” Neal asked.

“That was Frank Rogers down in DC – you know, my old partner?” Neal nodded. “Well, how do you like this – he’s pregnant.”

Neal's brain went offline a little. “What?”

“I know, right? Apparently, men who’ve had sex while they had the sex-changing flu can become pregnant. And Frank and his wife Rachel each well… you know – caught it at the same time. They changed back about three weeks ago, and now he’s… in the family way.”

Neal blinked slowly at him.

“He’s not the only one – apparently more cases keep coming up. The Centers for Disease Control are having a collective cow. There’s about to be a huge press conference to inform the public. Isn't that the craziest thing you’ve ever heard, Neal? Neal?”

Neal continued blinking.

“Why so pale, buddy?” Peter asked. “It’s not as if you had unprotected sex when you were a woman this past weekend, right?”

 _Of course I did!_ Neal wanted to shout at him. _What person wouldn’t?_

God, he’d had unprotected sex – very hot, very intimate, and very surprisingly meaningful sex – with his best friend Diana when she had turned up as a man on his doorstep. The virus had been going around, and they’d made a pact – if they each changed sexes at the same time, they’d take their new bodies out for a spin with each other. They’d figured it would be good and safe fun – just two friends doing each other a solid. With bonus orgasms.

Neal wasn’t so sure he’d have done it, though, if he thought there was even the remote possibility he’d wind up pregnant. Which kind of went without saying anyway.

“No. Course not,” Neal found himself mumbling in answer.

“Wow, that’s gonna… this whole thing is just crazy. But Frank and Rachel – they’ve been trying to have kids for years, and this is what happens? What an amazing thing, huh?”

“Yeah. So. Amazing,” Neal said, and he almost couldn’t feel his head right now. “Listen, Peter, do you think I could have the rest of the afternoon off? I’m, uh, still not feeling too hot after all.”

Peter’s face was suddenly serious, and his eyes filled with concern. “Of course, buddy – I can’t imagine how exhausted you must be after all that – body-changing stuff. I know when I had it years ago, I think I slept for a week afterwards.”

“Th-thanks, Peter,” Neal said, his head reeling when he stood. He took a moment and closed his eyes, to get his bearings. “Head rush,” he explained to Peter’s grim countenance, then gathered up his hat and left the building, headed for the closest Duane Reade.

\----

“Well, someone’s planning ahead!” the clerk at the drug store said as Neal stepped up to the checkout.

“What?”

“Buying a 4-Pack of pregnancy tests? I’d say that’s pretty smart planning!” the chirpy woman, whose nametag read “Mandee” said. “You and your wife just start trying?”

Neal looked at her uncomprehendingly.

”I know when my sister and her DH started, they had aaaall kinds of ups and downs, what with the ovulaaaaation tests to pinpoint a date, then all the crazy things to promote conception, like standing on your heeeead. Seemed like they were aaaaalways buying these tests. But not you – you’re planning ahead!”

“Um. They’re buy three, get one free,” Neal told her as he handed her his debit card.

He didn’t really remember the journey home, though he must’ve gotten on the subway at some point. All he knew was he was suddenly standing over his toilet looking at but not really comprehending the instruction sheet and thinking it couldn’t be this easy: Pee, wait, results? 

The first test strip gave him a negative result, and he was guardedly relieved, but in need of further assurance, so he decided to use another. He had to go drink a large glass of water to get himself ready, and thankfully that one came back negative as well. Using the third one was probably overkill, but he could hear Ellen’s voice in his head, warning him that it was always better to be safe than sorry, and as he stared at another negative result, he found he liked feeling safe. 

\----

The next day, Neal went to the office to find that Diana had returned, now changed back into her usual – female – self. She was on the phone, so he dropped his hat on his desk and went to get himself a cup of coffee.

“Hey,” she said to him, coming up from behind, startling him.

“Hi,” he said. Then, “Oh. Kay,” as she tossed a single arm around his back and gave him a half-hearted hug. Were they hugging-friends now?

“Hey,” she repeated, and it was almost too awkward for words.

“So. You’re recovered,” he said, handing her the cup of coffee he’d just poured for himself.

“Yeah. Woke up in the middle of the night, and there I was – back to the old me. What a relief!”

“Um, yeah. Nice to have all the parts back where they belong!”

“I’d better go get ready for the staff meeting – see you there,” she said and moved off to the conference room, where she was about to present a case for consideration by the team about a ring of cyber criminals who were targeting retirees as money mules.

Neal watched her go and poured himself another cup of coffee, then headed back to his desk wondering when he would stop feeling awkward around her. Sure, they’d spent the weekend making love in their temporarily sex-swapped bodies, so that was bound to be strange, but they were still the best of friends, right? Nothing had happened to change that fundamental fact. 

Except, it kind of had, hadn’t it? They’d made love – _had sex, dammit_ – but Neal came away from it with the kinds of feelings he neither expected nor wanted, feelings of fondness and regard for Diana that were not entirely of the friendly variety. As his Outlook pinged him to remind him of the imminent staff meeting, he resolved to suppress it. He had to, he could. He would.

He was Neal Caffrey, right? If there was nothing else he was capable of, he could compartmentalize.

 

**Week 5**

Neal lay on his couch, content to moan quietly for the time being. 

The stomach flu he had been fighting for the last few days had picked him up in its noisome maw, chewed him up, swallowed him, regurgitated him, then proceeded to compost him, turn him into garden soil, grow vegetables out of him and start the process all over again. 

He felt like ass.

“What. Is. That. Smell?” he asked Moz, who’d insisted on spending the day “taking care of him,” though Neal suspected it was the roach infestation at Thursday that had brought him over.

“Sardines. For the fish oil. Except I don’t really like them, so I’ve put them on this egg salad sandwich.”

Neal barely made it to the bathroom in time.

Later, as he was lightly dozing, an indifferent grunt from Moz brought him around. “Boy, you don’t know how lucky you were you changed back so fast when you were a girl,” he said.

Neal opened his eyes. “I enjoyed being a girl,” he defended.

“I enjoyed you as a girl,” Moz said with an attempted leer, but they both knew that Neal’s form at the time – most specifically, his breasts – were a great source of discomfort for Moz. “But I’m talking about the side effects. You’ve heard about all the men turning up preggers, haven’t you?”

“It’s hard not to.” It had been a top story on every major news outlet in the country for the last five weeks. Though the “clownfish flu” had largely dissipated, with no new cases reported in the US for about two weeks, the pregnant men story was the biggest news since the last royal wedding.

“It says here that the fertility rates of the men who had unprotected sex while changed is something like double the rate of women of the same age. Crazy.” He set the paper down. “I guess we’ll be seeing a baby boom in a few months, eh? What do you call a pregnant man? Mama?” Moz snickered.

“I would think ‘Papa’ would suffice,” Neal said. “Does it say how many pregnancies have been documented?”

“Something like a thousand, but they think they’re going unreported, like the men are embarrassed. But they’d better get un-embarrassed quick.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, just because their delicate condition left them with a functioning uterus, doesn’t mean these poor guys have any way of, you know, _actually giving birth._ ”

Neal flinched. “Could get messy.”

“More like deadly. There would probably be massive hemorrhaging, you know?”

“You think?”

Moz shrugged. “I’m no doctor, but I would think so. And even if that didn’t happen, the baby could die, and that’s not going to be good for the host. Or, I mean, the proud papa.”

Moz left not long afterwards, and Neal, exhausted from being sick all week and finally all alone, fell into a fitful sleep plagued by nightmares. He dreamt of men with exploding uteruses, then about changing into a woman permanently, being dropped by the FBI, and having to return to prison – the one he’d been in before his deal with Peter. 

But the dream that made him wake with a start and a small cry was the one where he was himself pregnant and the baby was stillborn. When he woke, early the next morning, he was shaking from the grief he’d felt in the dream, with tears coming unbidden to his eyes. The feeling was so overwhelming, it made him feel sick, and he ran to the bathroom where he dry-heaved for a few minutes before sitting himself on the floor with a frustrated groan. 

From this vantage point, he could see up into his medicine cabinet, which was standing slightly ajar. There, he saw it – the last remaining pregnancy test from the month before. Almost on autopilot, he used the sink to pull himself to his feet, and pulled the small cardboard box out. 

Much later, he would tell everyone that somewhere deep inside he just _knew._ That didn’t stop him from passing out from the shock, though. 

\----

“What happened to your head?”

Neal looked up at Peter and tried not to wince – he’d thought his hair would cover the knot he’d gotten when he’d hit his head on the sink earlier that morning. “I, um, hit it on something.”

“You look like hell.”

“Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t be here if you’re contagious.”

“I can safely say I am no longer contagious.”

“I suppose that’s good. Hey listen – Di’s giving another briefing on that online bank fraud case she’s working, you feel up to it? Because if you’re still feeling like crap, you can just take it easy.”

“Sure,” Neal said with a small smile – Peter really was one of the kindest people he knew. He grabbed a notebook and a pen and followed Peter up the stairs into the conference room, taking his customary seat.

“You’re back!” Di said by way of greeting; she was already there, setting up her presentation. “You OK? You look pale.” 

She rested the back of her hand on his forehead and he flinched when it brushed against the bump on his noggin. “What’s that?” she said, alarmed, moving his hair aside for a closer look.

“It’s nothing – stupid accident at home.”

“You’ve got to take better care of yourself, Caffrey,” she said with a smile and chucked him playfully on the chin as the rest of the team filed in. “Some of us care what happens to you.”

Neal tried not to feel warmed all over by her attention and failed utterly.

\----

“Whatcha got there?”

Neal jumped – the voice was very loud and _right behind him_.

“Moz! What have I said about sneaking up on people?”

“That I’m really good at it?”

“Jesus, do I need to make you wear a bell?”

“Grumpy. Anyway, what are you doing here? This health food store is well outside your radius.”

“Just picking up a few things I need,” he said evasively. “Peter’s at the bank across the street talking to a witness.” 

He tried to nonchalantly block the basket he held with his body, but it was all in vain as Moz grabbed the thing out of his hands and started rooting through it. Neal felt his face turn red – there was no hiding this now.

“Ginger tea… fiber pills… brown rice extract… _prenatal vitamins?_ Neal!”

“Shit.”

Moz said nothing else, just stared at him with his eyes bugging out.

“Breathe, Moz.”

“You hussy.”

“Hey!”

“I’m gonna be an uncle?”

“Can you pick a reaction and stick with it?”

“Who’s the father?”

“I – would rather not say until I make a few decisions.”

Moz’s mouth closed with an audible click. “Oh,” he eventually said, looking worried.

Neal didn’t know what else to say to him, so he paid for his supplements and left. 

 

 **Week 10**

“Hey, how ya feeling?”

Neal frowned at his cell phone before answering, “Moz, stop asking me questions to which you do not want the answers.”

“I do want the answers, Neal. _I care_.”

“Fine. Today, I’m feeling really good about the fact I only puked twice. But – joy of joys, guess what? The last time I puked, I kind of peed in my boxers a little, so I’ve got the added bonus of feeling as fresh as a daisy. After lunch – which consisted of three containers of yogurt, which you know I hate, but is the only thing I can keep down these days – I was so exhausted I literally fell asleep on top of the file I was researching for Peter.” 

“But you’re… like… eating lots of yogurt and taking all your vitamins?”

“Of course, Moz, why wouldn’t I?”

“So, you’ll be keeping it? The baby?” Moz’s voice was so small as he said this, Neal immediately felt like a shithead for yelling at him. As an orphan, probably the thought of any child being unwanted dredged up painful memories for Moz.

Suddenly, Neal wanted to cry. “Of course I’m keeping him, Moz. I’m sorry – these hormones really do make you feel like you’re going crazy.”

“I understand. I think. But I hate to hear you’re still feeling nauseous – what does your doctor say?”

Neal did not answer.

“Neal. You _are_ under the care of a physician, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t found one yet.”

“Haven’t found one yet – or haven’t looked? Neal! Do you know how high-risk your condition is?”

“Yes,” Neal answered sullenly.

“Then why haven’t you seen a doctor yet? You know there’s no turning back now.”

 _If I do, I’m afraid of what it means,_ Neal thought but did not say. He just let Moz lecture him for ten minutes until he had to go to his next meeting. 

 

 **Week 11**

Neal wondered what the hell he was thinking agreeing to come over here. It was Friday night, and all he wanted to do was go home, soak in a not-too-hot tub, and sleep.

But Elizabeth had invited him over for dinner at Casa Burke, saying it had been too long since they had really hung out, basically guilting him into coming. At least Peter drove and he hadn’t had to deal with public transportation.

Neal stood watching Elizabeth stuff and then dress a whole salmon, keeping all his focus and concentration on not vomiting. 

“Here ya go, buddy,” Peter said, setting a glass of wine in front of him, then doing the same for El before grabbing a beer for himself. “This is nice, huh?” Peter thunked the back of his hand against Neal's chest and Neal actually gasped – his chest was so damn tender lately, some days he thought it might make him weep openly. 

“You OK?” Peter asked, seeing the tears in his eyes.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Neal grumbled, rubbing his chest and scowling at him. 

“Sorry, princess,” Peter said, laughing, but Elizabeth just frowned.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Neal said, and not just because he needed to get away from the smell of raw fish – he legitimately had to pee something like twice as much lately. 

After dinner, as Peter took a call on the patio and Elizabeth was clearing the dishes, she looked at Neal with her head cocked. “Are you OK, honey?”

Neal looked up at her guiltily. “What? I’m fine.”

“OK, it’s just that you had none of the salmon, or the wine. That was a $60 bottle of Pouilly Fuisse – what gives?”

He stood and took the plates she held from her and carried them to the kitchen.

“Neal?” she asked, following him. 

“Guess I’m just a little tired and run down is all,” he said, avoiding her eyes. He returned to the dining room and brought back two serving bowls, then began to move the leftovers into Ziploc containers, trying to keep busy.

“Peter has said you’ve looked exhausted,” she said, agreeing with him. Then she laughed. “You know, if you were a woman, I’d swear you were pregnant!”

Neal looked up at her sharply, and as he did, he could see as the realization dawned in her eyes.

“Elizabeth –“

“You _are_ pregnant!” she said, covering her mouth with a hand. “Oh my God!”

“Elizabeth, please –“

“Oh my God, Neal, that’s spectacular, I’m so happy for you!” He had no reaction, and she quickly sobered. “This is a happy thing, right?” she asked uneasily.

“Yes,” he said, almost sounding like he meant it.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“No one knows, not really. And –“ Dammit, he was going to cry. This was a nearly daily occurrence, and he was really getting sick of it. “I’m sorry,” he said and left the room, taking the opportunity to run upstairs to pee yet again. 

When he emerged from the bathroom, Elizabeth stood in the hallway with a box of tissues in one hand and her other arm extended. Neal stepped into her waiting arms and laid his head on her shoulder. “I’m so screwed,” he said, sniffling. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. And this is scary stuff, you know? I don’t know how anyone does it.”

“Come on, it’ll be OK,” she said, rubbing his back. “You’re not alone, you know? What does your doctor say?”

“I don’t have one!” Neal sobbed into her hair. “I know I’m supposed to have one, but I don’t know where to go, and all those pregnant women are just going to _judge me!!_ ” He bit his lip to stop himself talking, because he was practically hiccupping at this point. And hysterical.

She shushed him until he calmed down, then said, “Look, we’ll take you to my doctor, OK? I’ll call tomorrow and make an appointment.” 

“OK.”

“And don’t worry – I’ll go with you and it’ll all be fine. No one will judge you – they’ll probably think you’re adorable. Then we’ll tell Peter all about it and he’ll make things right at the Bureau, and –“

“No!” Neal said sharply, pulling away from her, panicked. “Peter can’t know.”

“Well, honey, he’s bound to notice at some point.”

As Neal fought to keep his face from crumpling up again, she capitulated. “We won’t tell Peter – fine. That’s just fine. Now come on downstairs, and I’ll make us some tea and you can just relax, Neal. Everything will be all right in the end, you know?” She reached up and caressed his cheek. “There’s going to be a baby!”

\----

Through some miracle, Elizabeth was able to get Neal an appointment with her OB-GYN on Monday. And through another, unrelated miracle, Peter had to be in DC for the day. So Elizabeth picked Neal up from the office at lunchtime and no one was the wiser – the doctor happened to be less than three blocks from the FBI offices.

Before meeting Dr. Fischer – who, as it happened, also specialized in high-risk pregnancies like his – Neal sat with one of the nurses for nearly an hour and gave her a complete medical history. Then she weighed him, measured him, took his blood pressure as well as blood and urine samples, then gave him a cloth gown to put on after he took all of his clothes off. “You can leave your undies on, Mr. Caffrey – no need for a pelvic exam on our proud papas,” she said with a kind smile.

He was being irrational and needy and he knew it, but Neal made Elizabeth stay with him the whole time – except when he had to pee in the sample cup – and she was holding his hand when the doctor entered the room.

“Elizabeth?” Dr. Elsa Fischer, a tiny woman who looked to be about 60 years old, said in her soft German accent, blinking in surprise through her glasses to see another patient here at this time. “Is there something I should know?”

“Not at all, Elsa. Neal's a friend of mine and I’m here for moral support. I promise to stay out of the way.”

“All right then. Now, Mr. Caffrey, what have we got here?”

She smiled at him, and when Neal saw the laugh lines around her kind eyes , he was immediately put at ease. She asked him loads of questions about his health, referring to his medical history and making intelligent queries. “Now, one thing that’s pretty convenient with our M-Pregs – you know that’s what they’re calling you all in the medical community?” she clucked her tongue. “I don’t know what’s wrong with just, ‘fathers,’ but I digress. What I was saying is that we can pinpoint the date of conception pretty accurately, because there was only that small window, you see?”

“Yes. I, uh, last had sexual relations on the 15th of June.” He colored to admit this in front of Elizabeth, though of course she could do the math as well – she’d seen him when he was a woman, and had even taken him to a day spa for some pampering.

“That puts you at about 11 weeks, excellent.” Dr. Fischer clapped her hands together. “How would you like to see your baby?”

Neal nodded, nearly speechless as the doctor called for the ultrasound machine to be wheeled into the room. While he knew this was likely to happen eventually, he hadn’t given it much thought.

Elizabeth held his hand as he laid back, slightly-rounded belly exposed. The doctor squirted out the gel, then applied the probe to his abdomen, moving it around expertly as she “got a look at our little traveler,” as she referred to the fetus. She made some hmming and yessing noises as she worked, and at last pointed the baby out for them both on the display screen. 

It was kind of a smudge on the screen, if Neal was truthful with himself about it, and really kind of tiny and indistinct. He was trying not to be too disappointed by the whole experience when suddenly a faint, echoing, pulsing sound filled the room, shocking him.

“I-is – is that…?”

“That’s the heartbeat?” Elizabeth asked the question Neal was apparently unable to voice.

“It’s so fast!” Neal observed.

“That is perfectly normal,” Dr. Fischer assured them with a smile. “And you’ll be happy to know everything looks present and correct. At least as correct as a fully functional set of female reproductive organs inside a man can be!” 

She kept the probe situated in the same spot for several minutes so that Neal could get his fill out of the experience. “Looks like a blob of something,” he said, reaching out with his hand and brushing his fingertips against the bright smudge that was his son or daughter. “Hello, Blobby,” he said as the tears filled his eyes. 

Dr. Fisher gestured for Neal to keep still, then hit a button on the computer to print out an image for him. 

“Can I have a copy too?” El asked, and Neal laughed at the tears streaming down her face, even as she reached out to brush the ones on his own face away.

Elizabeth laughed. “Can we tell if it’s a boy or a girl?” she asked.

“That won’t be for another few weeks yet,” Dr. Fischer replied. 

“He or she will just have to be Blobby, then,” El said. She pulled his head against her and kissed his hairline fondly. “Oh Neal, just look at that!”

Neal didn’t know if he had ever been or could ever be as happy as he felt in that moment.

\----

“ _Peter_ , I’m pregnant.”

“Peter. I’m _pregnant_.”

“Peter. A funny thing happened to me a few weeks back – I got knocked up!” 

Neal frowned as he tried out the words he would use to tell his partner about his “delicate condition.” His decision the day before not to tell Peter crumbled the moment he and El made it out to the street. They walked back to the FBI building arm-in-arm, making all kinds of lofty plans for Neal's child, from education choices (the Sorbonne or Yale?) to life goals (Senator, doctor, or painter?) to future life mates (no Kardashians!). They laughed the whole walk back, and Neal had kept the small, black and white printout of his ultrasound in his pocket the entire afternoon, sneaking it out to peek at it every chance he got.

Now he was back at the Burkes, sitting on the couch with his feet up per Elizabeth’s rather bossy and insistent orders, listening to her prepare a pregnancy-appropriate meal of roasted chicken, quinoa-stuffed tomatoes, sautéed spinach, and an apple tart. He was staring at the image from the ultrasound, still happily reeling from it all. 

“Oh, hey, good to see you,” Peter said, happy to see Neal in his living room but clearly wondering exactly what he was doing there.

Neal stood abruptly, surprised at the unexpected interruption. “You’re home early.”

“I caught the express. What’s that?” He indicated the picture Neal still held.

Neal pulled it close to his chest. “A piece of paper.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, instantly suspicious of Neal's evasiveness. “What’s on it?” he asked slowly.

Neal found he couldn't answer. Peter’s arrival home had happened more than an hour sooner than he’d expected, and he was suddenly flustered. 

Peter took a step toward him. “May I see?” 

Neal didn’t so much hand it over as not resist when Peter took it. Peter flipped it over and took a look. “Is that an ultrasound?”

Neal swallowed. “Yes.”

“Aw, did you knock someone up?” Peter asked, sounding somewhat disappointed.

“What? No!”

“Wait a minute, it says here, _‘Patient: Caffrey-comma-Neal.’_ ”

“Yes. It does.”

It took a beat, but Peter’s eyes widened and, had they been on stalks, Neal was certain they’d be waving around right now. “ARE YOU PREGNANT?”

Neal swallowed again. “Um…”

“Oh, hi, Hon!” Elizabeth of the impeccable timing said as she breezed into the room. “I see Neal's told you.”

“NEAL IS PREGNANT. HON, NEAL IS PREGNANT!”

“Yes, honey, shh. I know. I took him to my doctor today for his first pre-natal visit. Everything checked out just fine.” She beamed up at him, then handed him the beer she’d brought him from the kitchen.

Neal watched as Peter’s face went from pale to red to purple in too-rapid succession. He wondered if they’d need to use CPR by the time the night was over.

“I’M GOING TO NEED SOMETHING STRONGER THAN THIS, HON.”

It took several minutes and three fingers of bourbon, but eventually Peter warmed to the idea, and by the time he’d gotten to his fourth through sixth fingers, he seemed to be entirely on board with the situation. 

“Congratulations, Neal, I can’t believe it. You’re going to be the best dad!”

Neal almost didn’t believe his ears. “You really think so?”

“What? You’re a kind, loving, thoughtful person with a lot of knowledge to impart. As long as you don’t bring the kid into the family business, everything should be fine.”

“Honey!” Elizabeth admonished, but Neal was laughing. 

“I’m glad you think so, Peter.”

“Who’s the father? Or… you know…”

“HONEY!”

“What?”

“That’s none of our business!”

Peter looked at Neal, shame-faced, but Neal held up his hand. “It’s a perfectly legitimate question, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to need to tell the other person first before I tell you.”

Yes, just how was he going to tell Diana? Neal felt the giddiness of the last few hours quickly fading away as he considered the prospect of breaking that bit of news.

 

**Week 13**

“Movie night!” Diana said with a huge grin on her face when Neal opened his apartment door. She held up a bottle of wine and a bakery box and stepped over the threshold. Neal paused to savor the hint of her perfume that hung in the air around him, then closed the door and followed her to his kitchenette, where she was rooting around in a drawer looking for his corkscrew.

“Whatcha makin’?” she asked, peeking under the lid of the pot on the stove.

“Choucroute,” he said as the aroma of braising onions, sauerkraut and pork filled the apartment. This week, he had not only stopped suffering from the near-constant nausea, he had found his appetite again, and the tang and richness of this dish was exactly what he craved.

“You should’ve told me to bring beer!” she said to him.

“No, the Riesling you brought is perfect,” he told her, and went to the fridge to fill the ice bucket.

She pulled out two wine glasses and he held up a hand. “I’m gonna stick to this for now,” he said, indicating the sparkling water he had set on the counter earlier. 

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. More wine for me!” As if to illustrate, she poured herself a double measure of the Riesling and took a big swig. 

Thirty minutes later, as she watched him serve up their dinner, she smiled and said, “You know, this is nice – we haven’t done this in so long. Why haven’t we done this in so long? We used to hang out all the time.” 

Over the last weeks, he had purposely avoided being alone with her, even though it pained him. Not only did he not know what to do with the feelings he had for her, he feared letting some clue about his condition slip and risk her figuring it out before he was prepared to tell her. But tonight he planned to bite that bullet, and he wished he could have had just one glass of that Riesling to fortify himself.

Luckily, Neal had already prepared an answer for her question, anticipating she’d ask it. “You’ve been so busy with the Chelsea Fraud Ring,” he told her.

The big case she’d been working the last three months was named after Chelsea Communications, the service provider whose servers the cybercriminals were illegally using to run their phishing and other schemes, as well as ferry their ill-gotten gains out of the country. The ISP was guiltless in the whole affair – and was cooperating with their investigation – so using their name was perhaps unfair, but once the case had been named, it had stuck. Thanks to the efforts of a task force led by Diana that included the White Collar team working with the Cybercrime Division, they uncovered at least three separate scams that seemed to net the ring more than $1 million per month. What they had yet to discover was who they were or where the money wound up.

“It’s not taking _all_ my time. If I didn’t know better, Caffrey, I’d swear you were avoiding me.”

“We just had lunch on Monday,” he pointed out.

“True,” she mused, sipping her wine. 

In truth, Neal had subtly made sure Jones and their newest probie, Brooks, had invited themselves along.

“Still,” she continued, reaching out to snag his hand; she rubbed the back of it with her thumb. “I feel like I’ve been missing you.” 

He looked down at her; her brown eyes were large and sincere, and he could see the truth of what she was saying in them. How would they look at him when he told her what he needed to tell her tonight?

“It’s nice to be missed,” he said; leaning forward, he kissed her on the head, then took his seat across the table from her. 

\----

“What’s on the program for tonight?” Diana asked, handing Neal a plate of the apple-cranberry crostata she’d brought for their dessert and settling herself on the couch beside him. She sat sideways, and wormed the cold toes of her bare feet under his thigh to warm them.

Neal pressed PLAY on the remote for the DVD player. “ _The Triplets of Belleville,_ ” he said, as the menu began playing.

“Ugh! Cartoons?!” 

“Yeah! Cartoons! This is one of the most celebrated animated features of recent years – it was nominated for an Academy Award.”

“Did it win?”

“Well, no, _Finding Nemo_ did. I have that too – did you want to watch it instead?”

“Cartoons are for kids.”

“Animation is for everyone. And anyway, since when do you hate it? I took you to see _Corpse Bride_ and you loved it.”

“There were corpses in it,” she explained slowly.

“Ugh, you and your zombie movies. That is not a legitimate art form, you know.”

“Millions of fans of _The Walking Dead_ would beg to differ with you.”

“When did you lose your joy, Diana?” he asked, mock-seriously.

“What, just because I don’t want to watch a cartoon, I’m dead inside?”

“Living dead inside,” he corrected.

She laughed, but then became serious. “I was never one for kid stuff, even when I was young. It wasn’t _allowed._ ”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed. “Well, when you’re the daughter of a pair of diplomats, they take you all over the world from one posting to the next. Sounds great, huh? Except I never got to actually _be a kid_. My folks would either leave me with my nanny when they went out to parties, or else drag me along to diplomatic functions with them. I may have been able to converse, in Dutch, with the Minister of the Exchequer of Suriname by the age of 10, but I never owned one single Barbie doll.”

“Sounds like you were your parents’ Barbie doll.”

“And the kicker is that I thought I loved it. But you know what I really wanted?”

Neal shook his head.

“A mom who’d bake me cookies and a dad who’d give me shit when I got a ‘B’ on a math test.”

“I’m sorry, Di.”

“Don’t be – you had it a lot worse than me.”

“I had Ellen to give me shit about my math tests.”

“You never got a ‘B’ in math in your life.” 

“True.”

She reached her hand out, resting it on the couch cushion, and Neal covered it with his; they sat in silence for several minutes, lost in their own thoughts. 

Diana broke the silence. “You know, when you’re a girl, you’re brought up with a certain amount of expectations piled on your head. Be good. Do as you’re told. Get married. Have children. But for most of my life I never wanted any of those things.”

“Not even the kids part?” Neal asked carefully.

She looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “Especially not that. Who am I to be a mother when I had such a fucked up example of one? What the hell do I know about raising a kid? What business do I have doing it?”

“I don’t know if that’s true, Di.”

“But I do.” They were silent a few more minutes, as the intro to the DVD continued to play quietly in a constant loop on the television. She wriggled her toes under his leg to get his attention “How ‘bout you?” 

“The kids thing? Yeah, I suppose I want them.” He leaned back against the couch and looked out through the skylight over his bed, where the rising moon was just becoming visible. “One of these days.”

 

**Week 17**

One thing Neal could say about his second trimester: At least he had gotten his energy back. He felt almost normal these days – even if he did need something like ten hours of sleep most nights – and he used his renewed energy to get as much work done as he possibly could. Peter noticed, of course, and was very complimentary and appreciative. 

The previous night, Neal had had a wonderfully bizarre dream involving him and a pair of fraternal twins – a brother and sister – and had woken with a hard-on that simply had to be taken care of immediately. He’d read that the hormones coursing through his body could lead to an increased sex drive, but he didn’t actually believe it. But the fact he was willing – and able – to treat himself to two bouts of wankery in surprisingly rapid succession proved how naïve he was.

He was positively bouncy when he arrived at the office that morning, and what’s more, his idea for infiltrating the Chelsea cybercrime ring seemed to be gaining traction in certain circles – not least of which appeared to be the criminals themselves. One of his aliases had picked up a hit from an anonymous lead that many of them were convinced was the ring’s leader (though not Peter), and Neal had set up a meet with the person for later that day.

“I can’t allow this,” Peter said flatly, his lips pressed together in the humorless line that Neal had learned meant he was being implacable – or trying to be. He was kitting Neal out with the wire he’d wear when he went to meet with his anonymous contact in two hours’ time.

“What do you mean you can’t allow it? This is our first solid lead on these assholes.” It also didn't hurt that it would help Diana's case.

Peter looked over his shoulder to be sure they were alone – of course they were, Neal reflected darkly, they were in an abandoned interrogation room on the 19th floor. “I’m not letting you run into danger – the stakes are too high now.”

“Stakes? What the hell are you – oh, now I get it. You won’t let me go undercover now that I’m in ‘the family way.’ God, Peter, if I were a woman at least I could accuse you of being sexist. Now, I don’t even know what to say.” Neal threw his shirt onto the nearby table in disgust.

“You can say I’m a really good friend who doesn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“But how is this different from any other time you send me undercover? Tell me one way.”

Peter looked very pointedly at Neal's now obvious baby bump, which had pooched out surprisingly noticeably in the last week and a half, much to Neal's – and his tailor’s – consternation. _Goodbye six pack, hello beer ball._ Still, he supposed it was inevitable; he only hoped it wouldn’t be hard to get his body back after the baby was born. And he supposed it was time to consider bigger pants sizes.

“That’s irrelevant,” Neal said to Peter, with as much dignity as he could manage, given that he was a pregnant man with his pregnant belly hanging over his too-tight pants. He sighed and lowered his hands, which had been resting, in fists, on his hips. He suspected he looked ridiculous.

“The hell it is,” Peter said, face darkening angrily. “Neal, I will not be responsible for the harm that might come to that baby.”

“But you’re OK being responsible for harm coming to me?”

“You know what I mean!”

“I don’t, Peter, not really. For the last three years, we’ve had this arrangement – I snoop on bad guys, and you come in and sweep them up. It’s not ideal, but it seems to work for us most of the time. As far as I’m concerned, nothing’s changed.” He was beginning to get a full head of steam and feeling really kind of angry now. “The minute you rein me in, I stop being effective. And the minute I stop being effective, people start to think about sending me back to prison. Now, I don’t know about you, Peter, but I am not about to let that happen. So: wire me up and let’s get this show on the road.”

Peter glared at him. “I don’t like it,” he muttered. “I don’t like it at all.”

“I know you don’t, but neither of us has a choice. This is the first break we’ve gotten on this case – we can’t let it pass us by.”

Peter picked up the transmitter and the tape, preparing to affix them to Neal's bare skin.

“Come on, Caffrey, the meet’s in half an hour, what the hell is keeping you?” Diana burst into the room, clearly impatient for them to get going. 

“Diana!” Neal exclaimed, reaching desperately for his shirt to try to cover himself.

“Wh –“ she said, then stopped. Her eyes were huge. She pointed at Neal's belly. “What the hell?”

“Di. I. Um,” Neal said, at a loss for words – that was happening all too often lately. Then he watched – abashed, horrified, mortified – as Diana’s expression turned from confusion to coldness in the space of a single breath. 

“You’ve been keeping something from me,” she said, her voice dangerously low.

“Let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain, Neal.” She gestured at his belly. “That is all the explanation needed.” She turned on her heel and left the room, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.

“Oh my god. Diana’s the father,” Peter breathed, putting two and two together pretty handily. 

“Fuck me,” Neal breathed, feeling suddenly light-headed and falling into the chair he’d occupied just a minute ago.

“Yeah, she did,” Peter said. “How did I not see that coming? Am I losing my mojo?”

“She hates me. She hates me forever,” Neal moaned, ignoring him and wrapping his arms around himself in abject misery. God, what had he done – why hadn’t he told her? He’d had all this time to do it – why had he put it off? Now he’d lost her forever. Not that he ever had her, really, but at least they were friends, and he’d have a little bit of her. 

Well, a lot of her, actually – at least half of little Blobby as a matter of fact. 

He laid his hand over his belly as he felt a little flutter inside himself – probably a new and fascinating way for the dreaded heartburn he’d been lately plagued with to manifest itself. But the feeling persisted, even after he stood up to try to ease it. It felt as if something was poking at him softly from the inside – not in a bad way, but kind of the way a bumblebee skirts the edges of a window, looking for a way in. When he realized what it was, he almost fell over.

“Neal? What is it – something’s wrong!” Peter asked, grabbing Neal's arm so suddenly it really did make him stumble.

Neal half-turned and grasped onto Peter’s arm with a huge grin on his face, despite the scene he’d just lived through, and despite the fact that the mother of his child now likely hated him forever.

“Neal?”

“Peter – the baby just moved!”

 

**Week 20**

“So,” Dr. Fischer said.

“So,” Neal replied.

“The baby is far enough along for us to determine its sex.”

“Yes.”

“You ready?”

“Yes!”

“Are _you_ ready?” she asked the row of expectant faces arranged behind Neal.

“Hell yeah,” said Peter.

“Oh yes!” said Elizabeth.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, dear, ” said June, bending forward to give Neal a little hug.

“Is it true those things have mind control properties? Because I read this thing –“

“Moz!”

\----

“A girl! A girl!” Peter couldn’t have been more excited if the child was his, Neal thought. “Look!” Peter dashed into a storefront and, when he hadn’t emerged after a minute, Neal was forced to follow him inside. 

It was a children’s consignment shop, and there were several Halloween costumes on display for the upcoming holiday.

“A little pink tutu!” Peter enthused, holding up a tiny, tulle-festooned onesie with matching satin slippers. “Or a pumpkin!” A fuzzy orange blob of cloth with a charming stem for a cap presented itself. “Or this!” A rather elaborate blue dress not unlike the costume worn by Disney’s Cinderella to the ball was pulled from its safe spot on the rack.

“I dunno about that last one,” Neal said with a frown, imagining Diana’s reaction to seeing their daughter dressed as a princess. 

“Too girly?”

“Too something.”

“You’re right – I’ll just get these two then.”

“Peter, the baby’s not even born yet.”

“Be prepared, Neal. It’s more than the Boy Scouts’ motto. It’s a way of life.”

“I can see that,” Neal said, smiling at Peter’s enthusiasm. His eye was caught by a colorfully decked out bassinet in the corner. “Wow, there’s a lot of stuff I’m gonna need, huh?” he said, running his fingers over a frilled bumper. 

“You won’t have to worry about that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Have you never heard of the grand tradition of the baby shower?”

“Yeah, but – those are for women.”

“Exactly. El and June have been planning yours since they found out.”

“Oh boy.” 

 

 **Week 24**

Dr. Fischer tutted and clucked and shook her head. “I’m not liking this one bit – your blood pressure is too low and you’re not gaining enough weight.”

“Most doctors would love to be able to say that to a patient,” Neal pointed out.

“Most doctors aren’t me. What are you eating?”

“Everything you’ve told me to, three times a day.”

“Increase it to five.”

“Doc, you’re killing me here! I’m already as big as a house.”

“You think this is big? Just wait eight weeks.” She held up a finger authoritatively. “Pregnancy is not for the vain. Listen, my dear, there’s a danger to the baby’s development if it is underweight. It has absolutely, 100% nothing to do with you. Now tell me what the real matter is, hmm?”

Neal just hemmed and hawed and swore to eat more complex carbs and dairy and she finally released him.

\----

“Neal, come on outta there. Let me see.”

“No. I’m not decent.”

“Are you fully clothed?” 

“Yes.”

“Then what’s not decent about it?”

Neal unlatched the lock on the fitting room door and pushed it open, letting Peter in. “This. Is freaking disgusting.” He indicated the pregnancy panel sewn into the pair of men’s pants he was trying on – elasticized for room to grow! – and shuddered. “It’s _polyester._ ”

Peter laughed. In his face. “It’s also temporary. Come on, none of your old clothes fit anymore, and I don’t think those scrub pants you’ve been wearing on weekends are appropriate for the office.” Peter had dragged him out to this store on their lunch hour, and Neal was beginning to hate this little shopping habit of his.

“They’re comfortable.”

“They’re pajamas. Now come on, there aren’t that many providers of pregnancy clothes for men in the city, and this shop is the top of the line.”

“It is a very underbred line,” Neal groused.

“You know, people are going to start really noticing. You should at least have clothes that… accommodate your changing circumstances.”

Neal turned sideways and looked at himself in the full-length mirror, a hand over the growing belly that his undershirts could no longer cover completely. “I haven’t seen my penis in a week,” he lamented. He scowled at Peter’s wholly unsuccessful attempt not to laugh. “This isn’t funny.”

“You’re right – it’s hilarious! And a miracle. Now, gut it up and buy some new clothes, and let me tell everyone at the office. Don’t think I haven’t heard all the ribbing the guys in the bullpen have been giving you.”

Neal winced – he’d been able to laugh most of the weight gain jibes off, but with Thanksgiving approaching, the nickname “Butterball Caffrey” was beginning to stick. 

“OK. Fine. But do I have to be there?”

“No. Take the rest of the afternoon off, and I’ll tell everyone.”

A sudden thought made Neal panic, and he grabbed Peter’s arm. But his partner was one step ahead of him. “I’ll warn her first, don’t worry. I’ll give nothing away about who the other parent of this child is.”

“Thanks,” Neal said miserably. Diana had barely spoken to him in weeks, and even when she had to, such as in a meeting, she barely looked at him.

“You should talk to her.” 

“She’s made it clear she doesn’t want to hear from me.”

“Does she know you’re in love with her?” Peter said in a low voice.

Neal deflated further. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to anyone who looks. But lucky for you, no one really is except El and me. You should tell her.”

“It would only make it worse, trust me. She hates me. I lied to her and she hates me.”

“You didn’t lie – you withheld certain truths.”

“You’re beginning to sound like me, Peter.”

“That _is_ a tragedy. Now – how about these?” He held up a pair of men’s pregnancy briefs.

Neal pointed at them disdainfully. “I would go commando before I’d wear those grandpa drawers! Put them away!”

“Really? They look kinda comfy.”

“Then you wear them. God! Let me retain _some_ dignity through this. Oh!” Neal clutched at his belly.

“What?”

“Grace apparently thinks this is funny too.”

“Grace? Is that her name?” Peter had an excited half-smile on his face.

“Until a better one presents itself.”

“Aww, it’s a nice name.”

“Thanks, it was my grandmother’s name. Now I gotta go pee. Remind me to have words with her about her behavior when she’s born, huh?” Neal headed for the men’s room at the back of the shop.

“It’s a deal,” Peter called out to him, and Neal could hear him repeating the name, “Grace. Grace Caffrey,” to himself until the bathroom door closed. 

It sounded perfect. 

 

 **Week 27**

“Merry Christmas! Here, Caffrey, I brought you some nog!”

Neal watched Agent Brooks with amusement as he accepted the cup and sniffed at it.

“Don’t worry – I grabbed it before they put the rum in. Cheers!” The half-drunken agent’s own cup of nog almost sloshed all over his hand as he smashed it against Neal's.

“Cheers.”

“Boy, this is great – they always go all out for Christmas around here?”

Neal glanced around the garland-festooned office and shook his head. A small budget surplus meant they got to decorate this year, and their file clerk Janice had gone to town. “Not usually.”

“It’s so excitin’! Can’t wait to tell my mama ‘bout it!” It appeared that when he drank, Agent Brooks’ Georgia accent presented itself in full effect. “Can I get you somethin’ to eat? There’re these little arugula cookies over there that are deee-licious.”

“I think you mean ‘rugelach,’ and I’ve had my quota of sweets for the day. Thank you for offering.”

Brooks beamed at him before moving off to flirt with Janice. 

Neal smiled fondly, watching him go. The young man had been very friendly to Neal, his Southern manners very much in evidence since news of Neal's condition had been delivered to the team. He’d been fetching Neal bottles of water and cups of decaf for weeks, “so you can stay off your feet, Neal.” He was really kind, and so were the rest of the team, holding doors and elevators for him, picking stuff up for him when he dropped them on the floor, and even bringing him his lunches from time to time.

Neal's good spirits lasted exactly another minute, when Diana entered the room and made a very obvious show of ignoring him. Now that Neal's pregnancy was out in the open, she hadn’t even pretended to be interested, and he was more than hurt by her rejection. His doctor had warned him that he needed to reduce stress, and since this was the root of most of his, he decided he’d try to eliminate it and talk to her.

“Hey,” he said to her over by the drinks table.

“Hey,” she greeted, eyes flicking up to his face, then his belly, then away as she began to walk away.

“Could you just… not? Avoid me? I want to talk to you.”

He could see her spine stiffen and she turned to look at him. “Fine. Talk.”

“Not here,” he said, and led her up the stairs to Peter’s office.

“Well, you dragged me up here – what did you have to say?” She had her arms folded across her body, and everything about her body language screamed “closed off.” 

Her attitude only made Neal bristle and he went with it. “Well, I was going to say I was sorry, but I’m not even sure I should now.”

“That’s your apology, Caffrey?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Look, Diana, I’ll admit I was wrong not to tell you what was going on with me the minute I found out, but it took two people to make this mess.”

“You’re saying it’s my fault?”

“Well, it _was_ your idea for us to make love…”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation –“

“I miss you,” Neal blurted out, and the anger left her eyes for just a moment. “I miss _us._ I miss our friendship. Can’t we just go back to where we were before?” He took her hand in his and it felt cold to the touch.

“You and I both know we can’t do that.”

Neal dropped her hand and placed his own on his belly. “I suppose not.”

“Neal, that’s not the only reason and you know it,” she said.

“Because I’m in love with you,” he said, not surprised she clearly already knew. “Makes it kind of complicated.” _Why_ had he thought this conversation was a good idea?

“You have no idea,” she said. They both sat on the edge of Peter’s desk, the sounds of the party below floating up to them; someone had suggested a game of Twister. 

“I really fell for her, you know,” Diana said several minutes later.

“Who?”

“Girl Caffrey.”

Neal's chest hurt. “We’re the same person.”

“But with one not-so-tiny difference. I’m a lesbian, I can’t be in love with a man.”

“You just said you fell for me.”

“No, I fell for _her._ There’s a difference.”

“I’m finding it difficult to parse that.”

“You are? How do you think I feel?” She jumped down from the desk and stood facing him. “Look, Neal, part of me will always love you, and I will be there for our baby, in whatever capacity you will allow. But I can’t do this with a man. I’m just not attracted to you.”

Neal flinched and closed his eyes, unable to bear the sorrow in her eyes – or the pity. “I guess I asked for that. Thank you for your honesty.” 

She laid a hand on his forearm and he opened his eyes; she kissed him on the cheek then left. 

It felt exactly like goodbye.

 

 **Week 30**

Neal liked the first week back to work after the New Year – there was a feeling of starting over fresh, and after all the slacking off and excess of the holidays, he really needed it. Things between he and Diana weren’t ever going to be the same, but at least she wasn’t giving him the cold shoulder anymore. Sure, they still pretty much avoided each other, but it was with more of a sense of sorrow over what was lost than the anger/shame cocktail they’d been mixing up. Neal counted it as progress.

His pregnancy was going as well as it possibly could, not only according to his doctor but also according to the surprising number of women who’d come up to him to assess his condition, unasked-for. They took it upon themselves to fill him in on all the horrors they’d personally experienced when they were in the process of bringing their own little angels into the world. Neal supposed he didn’t much mind tales of episiotomies and stretched-out pelvic floor muscles – since he’d be delivering by Caesarian in his 38th week for safety reasons, it didn’t much concern him. But their stories of the joys of breast feeding kind of made him sad to hear, because he would never be able to experience it – he didn’t exactly have the right equipment, not that functioned, anyway.

Grace, for her part, was a model fetus, wiggling and wriggling away happily during the day and pretty much sleeping and quiet at night. On the occasions when she got the hiccups (and Neal still couldn’t believe that one), it tickled so much it made him laugh out loud. Anytime he drank orange juice, she would practically tap dance on his bladder, and whenever Moz recited beat poetry at her, she seemed to be laughing at him. Which was about Neal's usual reaction, so clearly the child was taking after him.

What he hadn’t been expecting – and was apparently a particular complication for all the men in his situation – was the bone-aching pain he was in all of the time now. Male pelvises weren’t designed to accommodate a fetus, and while it was bearable for the most part, he was particularly uncomfortable by the end of the day, and sometimes needed help getting out of his chair. Hughes had suggested to Peter that Neal work half days the last two weeks he’d be at the office – he’d be spending the last six weeks at home on bed rest due to the high risk nature of his pregnancy – and he was very grateful. 

One thing he found odd - and all the women had warned him of this – was the sheer number of people who felt they had the right to touch his belly. Some days he felt like some sort of lucky rabbit’s foot, so many people were rubbing him. Peter was very protective of him when he could be, for which Neal was also grateful.

He didn’t mind when people he knew touched him, though, like in today’s staff meeting. He was, as usual, playing with his rubber band ball, tossing it in the air idly in the minutes before the meeting began. Once Peter started talking, Neal rested it on his belly, thinking nothing of it. Grace, however, seemed determined to prove her worth as a future world class soccer player, because she kicked him hard enough to send the ball flying onto the table.

“What was that?” Peter asked, amazement on his face as he pointed at Neal.

“Um… baby kicks.”

Jones sat forward in his chair. “Really? They’re that hard?”

Neal nodded. “They can be. Especially when she’s hungry. I mean, when I’m hungry – it’s almost lunchtime.”

“Do it again!” Brooks urged, returning the ball to Neal.

“Well, it’s not me doing it,” Neal said as he replaced the ball, “but –“ Immediately, the ball bobbled a bit, then once again flew off of him, though not nearly as far as before.

“I saw it!” Brooks said, excited. “I saw the little foot or whatever! Can – can I feel it?”

“Sure,” Neal said with a smile and allowed Brooks a go. 

“Wow, it’s kinda hard, isn’t it – like a bike tire,” Brooks observed, pressing his hand into Neal’s stomach. “I always thought you’d be all soft.”

Neal didn’t know whether to be insulted by that one or not – he had tried to maintain an exercise regimen, after all.

“Really?” Jones said, leaning over and laying a hand on Neal. “Wow, that’s amazing isn’t it? Oh! She kicked me!”

“She likes deep voices,” Neal told him.

“Can I have a turn?” said a soft voice. 

Neal looked to find Diana standing beside him. “Um, sure,” he said, swiveling his chair around.

She crouched in front of him and placed a tentative hand on his belly. Neal took it and moved it three inches to the right to where the latest action was. 

“Hey, little one,” Diana cooed. “How you doing in there?” 

Grace’s reaction to her voice was immediate as the baby began wriggling and kicking excitedly.

“Ow! Ooo, I think she likes you,” Neal told her.

Diana looked up into his eyes, a myriad of emotions in her eyes – wonder, regret, hope. Their eyes locked.

“Okaaay, maybe we should get this meeting going?” Peter said, breaking the spell, for which Neal was thankful. Any longer and he knew their reaction to each other would be noticed. “Diana, you want to fill us in on the CI you’ve been cultivating for the Chelsea cybercrime case?”

Diana stood abruptly, her face now perfectly expressionless. She straightened her jacket and went to the front of the room. “Just to catch you all up from last week,” she began, “Our confidential informant has been giving us names of some of the lower-level members, and we’ve set up digital surveillance on each of them.”

“Has it yielded anything?” Jones asked.

“Not yet.”

“You follow the money?” Neal asked; given their estrangement, he didn’t really know that much about the case anymore.

“Of course – we’ve got traces on known accounts and we know where money is coming in from, and where it’s going. They’re smart about it – the cash hits more than three hundred accounts – most of which are owned by private citizens and legitimate businesses who know nothing of the transactions. The money’s in these accounts for less than an hour before they’re transferred and used to buy and trade Bitcoins. They let those gain a little interest, sell them, then the cash hits an account in the Caymans for a while before being filtered back to the States. It’s taken Cyber Division the last three months just to piece that together.”

“But have you traced what they do with it once it’s moved? What are they using it for, what are they spending it on?”

Diana looked at him blankly.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked Neal, sitting forward in his chair and clearly interested in this new angle.

“Well, if they’re able to hide their tracks so well, there could be something they’re doing with the money that’d identify them. Have a look at what they’re buying – and who they’re buying it from. It’s a longshot, but maybe you’ll get a lead there.”

“That’s brilliant, Neal,” Peter said. “Boy, we’re gonna miss you when you go on leave!”

 

 **Week 33**

Neal felt kind of excited to be returning to the office for a baby shower today. Sure, it was nearly two weeks since he’d had to start his leave, and he was meant to be on bed rest, but the doctor said he could leave the house for short periods of time as long as he kept off his feet, and he was already bored. Not for the first time, he reflected that this pregnancy was a much better way of keeping him to his radius than the anklet ever had been. Speaking of the anklet, Peter had let it out as far as it could go to accommodate the swelling in Neal's ankles, but barring the invention of an elastic model, he was stuck with the daily discomfort of it.

When he entered, the break area was decorated in pink, with little stork-shaped cupcakes and baby bottles favors filled with candy. All of these were arranged around a pile of presents that was almost embarrassingly huge but, as he realized a few weeks back when Elizabeth had forced him to go out and set up a registry, baby paraphernalia was both costly and _large._

“You guys, this is too much,” Neal said, truly overwhelmed. The gift pile at another shower thrown by El and June the weekend before had been even larger.

Peter threw a companionable arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “It’s just enough,” he said with a grin.

“Neal.”

Neal turned to find Diana standing there with her briefcase slung over her shoulder. “Listen, I really want to stay, but I’ve got this suspect in holding and –“

“Suspect?”

“A break in the Chelsea case,” Peter supplied. “We’re pretty sure this guy, Sean Goodman, is middle management, but we’re hoping we can get him to dime out his bosses.”

“That’s terrific, congratulations.” 

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Diana pointed out. “Your idea about looking where they spend their money really paid off big. But I’ve gotta go – the guy hasn’t lawyered up yet, and I’m hoping to break him!”

Neal grinned to see her enthusiasm, and watched as she and young Brooks took off down the hall towards the interrogation suite.

“Gotta love the enthusiasm,” Neal commented to Peter. “You have to go supervise?”

Peter shook his head. “Our little girl is all grown up. She can handle this one on her own.”

They settled down to a catered lunch before Neal was shown to a large, comfy desk chair that he recognized as Hughes’ set up beside the presents. It took nearly a half hour to open everything, and when it was over, he lingered behind well after he was supposed to go home, to thank all his friends for their generosity.

“I think this is the last of it,” Peter said to Neal; he and Jones had needed two trips to get everything downstairs and loaded into the Taurus. “If you’re ready, I’ll drive you home.”

“Thanks,” Neal said. “Think I’ll just hit the bathroom before we go. Meet you downstairs?”

Peter nodded and Neal made for the men’s room as Peter and Jones disappeared inside the elevator one last time.

Neal was alone in the men’s room and was just washing his hands when he heard a loud bang, followed by what was, unmistakably, the sound of automatic weapons fire. He immediately pressed himself back against the wall beside the urinals as more shots were fired. He heard shouts and screams and the rushing of footsteps. He fumbled for his phone and tried to call Peter, but the call wouldn’t go through. He next tried Diana, then Jones with no luck, and even his call to Moz resulted in nothing. 

Neal realized two things with sudden clarity: the building was under attack and whoever they were had managed to block communications. Oh, and a third thing: He was pretty much fucked.

After a few minutes more, it seemed as if the noises had died down. Concern for his friends drove Neal from the men’s room. Being eight months pregnant was not ideal for maneuverability, but he hadn’t lost any of his former cat burglar skills, so he was at least stealthy. 

He looked up and down the hall – there was really no one around now. Building protocol was for non-agents to shelter in place in offices with doors that could lock, but most of those were on the north side of the building and Neal was on the south side. He thought he heard a sound off to his right, in the direction of the interrogation suite. His heart hammered in his chest when he remembered that Diana was still down there, questioning her suspect, and then took off in that direction. 

Halfway there, he saw blood drops on the floor and smudges of it on the wall. A sound ahead made him freeze. It was not repeated; he didn’t think anyone would be coming. Up towards the ceiling he spotted the flashing of the light he knew indicated that a silent alarm had been tripped – good, at least _someone_ knew there was something bad going down and help would be here soon.

Still, not knowing where Diana was, he continued on, keeping a slower pace than before, moving completely silently. When he rounded the corner and the glass-walled room came into view, he nearly cried out at what he saw.

Bodies. On the floor. Bodies and blood. He rushed forward, the sight of a dark-haired woman facing away from him making him want to whimper and rage all at the same time. But it was not Diana, she wasn’t even wearing a grey suit today, and the relief he felt almost shamed him. He dropped to his knees before the woman, adrenaline helping him to ignore the usual complaints of his pregnant body. It was AUSA Victoria Potter – he’d met her a total of three times, to testify on some of the cases he’d worked with the White Collar team. She was conscious but breathing shallowly and in a lot of obvious pain.

“Vicky!” Neal said to her; he realized that most of the blood on the floor seems to have come from her. She probably didn’t have long.

“Caff-Caffrey?” she stammered.

“What happened? Who did this?”

“Ketchum,” she said weakly. “Mark Ketchum.”

Neal wracked his brain – Ketchum’s name had been in the alerts sent from Homeland Security a lot the last two years; his Indiana-based Ketchum Militia was rumored to be the fastest-growing domestic terror threat ever documented. 

“Ketchum? Here?”

“We were interrogating h-h-him.”

“I thought the suspect’s name was Goodman?”

She winced in pain. “Alias. W-w-we’ve had the bastard here the last two days and didn’t know. Oh!” She clutched Neal's shirt with a bloodied hand. He closed one of his over it and squeezed it reassuringly. “If we knew who we had, we would have moved him to a secure location.”

Neal thought this _was_ a secure location. “How many men, Vicky? How many of Ketchum’s men were there?

“Don’t know. All I saw were guns. All I saw…” Her voice trailed off as she began to lose consciousness. 

“Vicky!”

When she opened her eyes, she had the same look in them Neal remembered seeing in Ellen’s eyes just as the EMTs were taking her away in the ambulance. She didn’t have long. Neal squeezed her hand. 

“Neal!”

“Tell me. Tell me whatever you need to, Vicky.”

She actually smiled, looking relieved. “Tell my husband… that I love him… And… tell him… I’m not mad about… the Corvette, OK?”

Neal smiled despite tears in his eyes. “I’ll do that, Vicky.”

“Thanks. You’re… you’re… a good…” She said no more as her eyes lost focus and Neal knew she was dead. 

A groan behind him distracted him and Neal turned. Back against the wall was a man on the floor with a gunshot wound in his shoulder. 

“Brooks!” Neal said to him urgently, shaking him awake.

Brooks moaned as he opened his eyes, looking around in a panic before his eyes fell on Neal's. “Neal! God, it hurts!” He shut his eyes against the pain, but Neal was feeling the urgency of the situation, so he shook the injured man once more.

“Brooks – where’s Diana?”

“Took her. They took her with them. A hostage.”

“Where?” 

Brooks shook his head. 

“How the _hell_ did they get weapons into the building?” Neal said.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Brooks said through gritted teeth. “They sure seemed to know their way around the place though. I th-think they had an inside man.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Neal said. His mind was reeling. They FBI offices had been attacked by domestic terrorists who apparently had inside knowledge of not only the building’s layout but its security features – or lack thereof, as it turned out. If they had as much knowledge as they seemed to have, Neal reasoned there were two places they’d go – back the way they’d come or up to the roof, where a helicopter could pick them up. “Listen, Brooks, I think you’re going to be OK, so I’m gonna go and see if I can find Diana.”

“Neal, no! They’ll kill you as soon as look at you.”

“I’m not leaving her, Brooks. Besides, you should know by now – I have more lives than a cat. Did you see how many of them there were?” 

Brooks shook his head. “I personally saw maybe four, but I had the impression there were more. Sorry Neal. I did manage to get a few shots off, though, and I think I hit Ketchum – I saw him flinch.” 

That probably accounted for the blood drops Neal had seen on his way here. He squeezed the young man’s uninjured shoulder and stood. “Good man. Listen, I’ve got to go.” 

“Neal!”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck.”

Neal made it to the Southeast stairwell – the closest and therefore most likely way the terrorists had gone – without incident, and without seeing another person, living or dead. He didn’t know if he should be thankful for that or not, so he decided to just not think about it. There was more blood over here, on the floor and the door, confirming that the bad guys had come this way. 

He was about to open the door when a bullet ricocheted off its metal jamb and he ducked. Another shot sent him spinning, throwing himself behind a nearby cubicle wall. He underestimated his own mass and momentum – thanks, pregnancy weight gain! – and landed heavily on his hip against it, shaking the thing so hard it almost fell over.

The gunman – he had to be an unfriendly, because all of the agents on this floor certainly knew him – continued to fire. Neal could feel the cubicle wall and the desk in front of it absorbing the impact of the bullets; eventually, the man ran out of ammunition. Hoping he didn’t have a secondary weapon, Neal pulled himself up – it wasn’t as if his belly allowed him to crouch like a hidden tiger or whatever – and stood on the balls of his feet with his hands up and his knees bent, ready for anything.

“You there, Fed?” a voice called. It was very close. Neal willed the idiot to keep talking. “Don’t think I don’t know where you are.” 

As a matter of fact, Neal was counting on it. He heard the footfall on the cheap, industrial-grade carpet before he saw it, and launched himself forward, taking the man by surprise as he tackled him to the floor. Neal pushed himself up, straddling the man as he punched him once, twice, a third time, until he was finally knocked out. 

Breathing heavily, Neal looked at the guy. White, dark hair, early 30’s, as nondescript as they came. His clothes were more remarkable, however: he was dressed in the same coveralls the building’s maintenance crew wore. Neal concluded that was how they’d gained access, though how exactly he couldn’t guess, nor did he care. He just needed to find Diana.

He pulled himself to his feet using another cubicle wall and moved slowly back to the stairwell. “Ow,” he gasped, placing a hand on the side of his belly when it twinged. He must’ve pulled something when he tackled the shooter to the floor, but he couldn't think about that now. 

“Don’t worry, Gracie. I’ve just gotta make sure mommy’s OK, then we’ll go home, I swear,” he said before disappearing through the door and beginning to follow the blood trail up the stairs.

The blood drips seemed to stop around the 26th floor, a fact for which Neal was supremely grateful. He was winded after just five flights of stairs, and the twinge in his belly was now a full-blown stitch. He decided to pull the door open and stuck his head through. 

The corridor seemed deserted, so he stepped out from behind the door. He turned right, following the blood, but froze when he heard voices to his left along an interior hallway. He decided to investigate. Moving as quietly as he could, he found two rooms at the other end: a large conference room and an adjacent, connecting office. Both had windows cut into the walls beside their doors. As he poked his head around the first one, he nearly passed out from relief to see Diana inside, sitting on the floor against the wall with her hands zip-tied behind her, looking murderous. Inside the second room were five armed men, gathered around the conference table where a sixth, presumably Ketchum, lay, face a wholly unhealthy shade of grey.

Neal backed away, trying to stay out of their line of sight. He tapped lightly with his fingernail on the window, getting Diana’s attention. 

Diana’s eyes widened to see Neal there; he crept into the room and crouched down with some difficulty beside her, reaching for the zip-ties to try to break them. “Neal! What the hell are you doing?” she hissed at him.

“I thought I was saving your life,” he whispered back, “but these damn ties won’t budge.” He moved around to face her and noticed she had the beginnings of a black eye as well as a gash on her forehead. He felt a wave of rage pass through him again that he rapidly suppressed, and instead touched her face tentatively with his fingertips. She winced in pain but didn’t pull away. “You OK?”

She nodded. “I gave as good as I got.”

He crawled over to the room’s desk and grabbed the scissors that protruded from the pencil cup on it, then returned and freed her. A flurry of activity in the room beyond made them both freeze, but the terrorists made no move to come into this room. “Let’s go,” Neal whispered and they both got out of there.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see someone in my entire life,” Diana murmured as they got farther away.

“Likewise,” Neal said. “The stairs are this way.” 

They were nearly there when the door slammed open, and the man Neal had encountered downstairs emerged. They ducked into a copy room with a second door that let out onto a different hallway. 

“Shit, what do we do now?” Neal asked.

“Well, this is the NSA floor – there should be a secure room somewhere at the center of it – all of them have that.”

Neal looked at her in much the same way he might have looked at an alien. “First off, this is an NSA office? It says Social Security Administration on the doors.” Diana shrugged. “And secondly, how do you even know that?”

“I dated an NSA agent once upon a time.”

“Naturally. Well, let’s not dawdle – the minute they figure out you’re missing is the minute they come after us.” 

It didn’t take long to find the room – it appeared to be a storage closet on the far side of the break room, the heavy duty door and biometric lock a dead giveaway – but getting in was going to be another story.

“Shit, it’s a Wilson A-390,” Neal said, recognizing the configuration.

“That means something to you?”

“Allegedly.” He pulled a leather pouch out of his pocket, inside of which were a few lockpicks, a universal USB adapter, and a few other things he’d need.

“You still carry those things around with you?”

“Old habits die hard.”

“I suppose I’m thankful for that,” she said, then went over to the door they’d just come through to watch for the bad guys.

“So what happens next?” Neal asked as he worked; he’d already hooked up his phone to the locking mechanism, and now it was just a matter of finding the right override code. “I mean, what’s the protocol? If I get us inside this room, how long do we have to wait?”

“They’ll send SWAT in to sweep all of the floors, starting with where the breach happened and working outward. Shouldn’t be too long, actually.”

Neal hoped that was true, because the stitch in his belly had become a full-on stabbing pain, and it was worrying.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” Diana whispered, and Neal decided to take it as encouragement. It took longer than he anticipated – he hadn’t downloaded the latest update to the lock-picking app Moz had given him – but finally the lock clicked, indicating it had been disengaged.

“Good work, Caffrey!” Diana said, rushing over to him as he disengaged his phone and pulled the door open.

Suddenly, there was a shout, and moments later three armed men appeared, weapons firing. Acting on instinct, Neal turned and pushed Diana inside the safe room ahead of him and, as another bullet lodged itself in the wall inside the door, just missing her, he slammed the door closed, locking it.

“Crap,” he muttered, lifting his hands above his head and turning slowly and deliberately to face the gunmen. 

“Who the hell are you?” the one in front asked him.

Neal smiled his best smile. “Neal Caffrey, pleased to meet you. I’d offer to shake your hand, but I don’t think I want to make any sudden movements just now.”

“He’s the guy that attacked me downstairs, Warren!” the man Neal had encountered earlier said as he stepped forward. “Let me finish him off!”

“Please don’t do that,” Neal said, resting his hands on his head. “I am no threat to you. You’re the ones with the guns.”

“There’ll be no killing unless I say so, Eddie,” Warren said. “We just need to find a first aid kit and get Mark to the roof so we can get out of here.”

Eddie scowled at Neal.

“You wouldn’t shoot a pregnant person, would you? You look like a nice bunch of terrorists, after all,” Neal said, thinking fast.

“What do you mean – you’re having a baby?” Warren asked. 

“He’s one of those freaks I seen on the news,” the third man said. “Remember that sex-changing disease a few months back?” 

“Really?”

“Please, you don’t think that I’m really shaped like this, do you?” Neal asked, insulted.

“Suppose not,” Warren said. “What’s it like?”

Neal couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “It’s harder than you think, actually.” 

“No kidding?”

Suddenly, the pain Neal had been experiencing became infinitely worse, and he doubled over with a groan. He was dimly aware of all three men raising their weapons higher when he moved, all of them pointed at him, but he didn’t much care at the moment. “God!” he couldn’t help gasping as he fell to his knees.

“What’s the matter?” Warren asked.

“I don’t know,” Neal answered. “I think I pulled a muscle before.”

“Let’s just shoot him and get on out of here,” Eddie insisted.

Neal felt real panic and held up a hand to them. “Please don’t do that. My baby – her name is Grace. You don’t want to be responsible for… for…” Neal couldn’t bring himself to say the words: _killing her._ “Do you have any children?”

“I got a niece,” Warren said.

“Do you love her?”

“She’s real cute.”

“Then you know what I mean. Come on, Warren, you can just get the first aid kit and go – I won’t give you any trouble.”

“Aw, for Pete’s sake,” Eddie said, then strode forward and clocked Neal on the side of his head with the butt of his weapon. Neal fell to the floor, stunned. “We don’t have time for all this talking. Let’s get the first aid kit and get the hell out of here.”

Neal was vaguely aware of them rooting around in a cabinet in the corner. He painfully managed to push himself over to lie on his back, but when he opened his eyes, there was Eddie standing over him again, an angry expression on his face. 

“This is for before,” he said, then hit Neal with the gun a second, and third time. “Now we’re even!” 

Neal was unconscious before Eddie left the room.

\----

“Neal! Neal, please, I know you’re out there, I can see you on the monitor that’s in here! Neal! WAKE UP!!”

Diana’s shouting at him through the door roused him, but the sudden, excruciating pain in his belly was what really woke Neal up. He sucked in a breath and hissed it out, but it did nothing to ease the agony.

“Neal! Neal!”

“I’m up,” he breathed, and pushed himself up to a seated position against the door to the safe room. 

“Neal! Neal, come on – I can’t get the door open. Whatever you did to the lock, it’s in some sort of safety lockdown mode. Neal!”

The pain backed off somewhat, but it left Neal panting. Warren and the other two were gone, and he couldn’t really hear anything else going on on this floor except for Diana’s urgent calls from behind the door.

“CAFFREY!”

“Diana.”

“Come on, you’ve got to get me out of here.” 

“True,” he agreed, but the throbbing in his head begged to differ and he may have blacked out for another moment or two...

“Neal, Neal, Neal,” Diana begged, and it was the desperation in her voice that truly roused him.

“Gotta get you out of there,” he said, waking.

“That’s right. I’m stuck in here – see what you can do?”

With a moan, Neal patted through his pockets to find the tools he’d used only moments before. Pushing himself up onto his knees, he fumbled with the phone, his fingers suddenly clumsy, dropping it. He shook his head. “Get it together Caffrey,” he breathed. 

He tried to stand so he could hook the phone to the lock’s control panel once more, but a stab of pain ripped through him that sent him to the floor again, writhing and clutching at his abdomen. “God!” he only managed to gasp out as everything went all white around the edges.

“Neal, what’s wrong? Please, talk to me.” Diana was crying now, beating ineffectually at the door with her fists. 

“I don’t know,” he told her, but it was a lie. It was the baby, he knew it. Something was wrong, something serious.

“Neal, we’ve got to get you out of here, but you’re the only one, the only one who can make that happen.”

“I know,” he breathed. Another pain ripped through him, and if that was a contraction, it was way too soon, and they were way too close together. It couldn't be, it just – whatever it was, it was so severe, he couldn’t control the scream that was ripped from his throat. 

“Neal!” Diana all but begged.

But he couldn’t move, he couldn’t do anything. Eventually, the pain eased somewhat, and he had just one thought. “Diana,” he moaned.

“Neal, Neal!” She was beating on the door and he could hear her crying.

“Diana, something is wrong with me, or with the baby, I’m not sure.”

“Neal!”

“Dammit, listen to me!” He gasped through another stabbing pain. “Listen,” he said, fighting against the pain and the darkness that crept around the edges of his vision. “If it comes down to it, promise me you’ll make them save the baby. Promise me that Grace comes first.”

“No, Neal, please.”

“ _Promise me,_ he bit out, fighting down the urge to scream.

“I promise, I promise.”

For some reason, that knowledge had a calming effect. He eased his head to the floor, pressed his forehead up against the door. Beyond, he sensed movement, could see a shadow, and knew that Diana had assumed the same position. He imagined he could see her, could see her large, expressive eyes and her beautiful lips. “Di,” he breathed, “I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time, and I know you can’t love me back, but I don’t really care. I just need to say it.”

“No, Neal, don’t give up now, you can’t, please.”

“Don’t know if I have much of a choice here.” 

“Neal, please don’t leave me, you can’t. You have to hold on.”

“Can’t.” He closed his eyes at yet another wave of agony, felt the darkness closing in.

“Please, I love you, don’t give up, I love you, I love you, Neal.”

“That’s nice… nice of you to say.”

“I mean it, goddammit!” He felt her punch or kick the door in frustration. “Listen to me Caffrey, I realized something when I felt our baby kicking for the first time – something I’ve been denying for too long. I love you – I’m _in love_ with you. And it goes against everything I am, or thought I was, or _something_ , but you have to believe me when I say it. Please, I can’t lose you, not now, not when everything’s just about to get good.”

For some reason, Neal found that amusing, and he laughed. “Thank you.” 

Then, another stab of pain wracked him, this one worse than the others, forcing out another scream, and it didn’t stop, it wouldn’t, and he screamed again, and Diana screamed, and then everything went black.

\----

“Neal.”

 _Diana?_

“Neal.”

 _Not Diana._

“Peter?”

“Hey, buddy, hang in there, OK?”

Neal felt like he was floating. No: he was being carried. Peter and Jones were carrying him. The pain hadn’t stopped, but he was somehow above it, beyond it.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You have to. For Grace. She’s gonna need her daddy, now.”

 _Grace._

“I’ll try,” Neal promised, and then he was floating again.

\----

The voices of the EMTs working on him were quietly urgent, but that wasn’t what Neal heard clearest. 

“God, just _tell me if he’s all right, Peter. PLEASE!_ ”

“I don’t know, Di, I don’t know.”

“Neal!”

 _Diana. Please don’t cry,_ Neal thought before everything faded to black. 

\----

“It’s going to be all right, Mr. Caffrey. We’re taking good care of you.”

“The baby.”

“We’re gonna take care of the baby too. Just keep calm. You’ve lost a lot of blood and we need to get you into surgery right away.”

“The baby,” he repeated, afraid. But at least there was no more pain here.

\----

“Neal.”

Someone was petting him, and this had never been anything he’d liked before, but he was too groggy to lodge a protest. His eyes focused in. “Di?”

“Hey,” she said with a smile, but there were tears in her eyes and he wasn’t sure why.

“Is…” He couldn’t really talk, either. 

Then Diana was gone and he couldn’t say anything to bring her back and he was so, so disappointed.

“Meet your daughter,” she said, suddenly there. 

And a small bundle was laid on his chest and she weighed next to nothing, and she had a tiny, squinched-up face and way too much hair. And she was _his_.

“Grace,” he whispered and passed out again.

\----

When he woke again, he felt more himself and less floaty, and there was a baby crying. There was a baby crying and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. 

He turned his head to see Diana sitting in a chair against the wall, beside a wheeled bassinet, pressing a small bottle filled with formula against the baby’s mouth. Grace immediately began to suckle, though not without an enraged whimper first, just to get her point across. 

Diana noticed him moving and looked up at him, smiling. 

“Hi,” he said, smiling back. 

“Hi,” she replied, and there was a sublime beauty to her sitting there with the baby in her arms, and it just looked so right he wanted to cry.

“You want to feed her?”

Neal wanted to desperately, but he didn’t want to disturb either of them. “No, you look like you’ve got it under control. Besides, I’m sure I’ll have ample opportunity in the next eighteen years or so.”

Diana nodded.

“What happened?” 

She frowned. “Ketchum’s men launched an attack to free him – that much you know. It was definitely an inside job – the maintenance contractor for the building is part of their organization and hid the weapons in recycle bins if you can believe it.”

Neal could believe it.

“Three are dead, including Ketchum.”

 _Vicky,_ Neal thought with a pang – he’d have to find her husband and have a talk with him. “Brooks?”

“He’s fine. His shoulder’s all shot to hell and they’re not sure when or if he can resume duty, but it was his bullet that killed Ketchum.”

Neal didn’t know how to feel about that. “How long have I been out of it?”

“Almost two days.”

“Cripes.” He’d missed the first two days of Grace’s life.

“You had to have emergency surgery – you lost a lot of blood, and of course there was the baby.”

“How is she? Any complications?”

Diana grinned down at the bundle in her arms. “Ten fingers and ten toes – she’s tiny and perfect. They’ll send her home when they send you.” She got to her feet and came to stand beside him. “Still don’t want to hold her?”

“No,” he said, and held out his arms, ignoring the pull of the IV line. 

Diana settled Grace into his arms, and she fit so perfectly he almost couldn’t believe it. Bereft of her bottle for the moment, she squawked in protest, tiny fists clenched tight, but as soon as Neal pressed the nipple to her lips, she began sucking away like a champ. 

He studied his daughter, amazed by the individual hairs of her tiny eyelashes and eyebrows, the perfect little wrinkles of the joints of her fingers, her beautiful, bow-shaped mouth. “She looks just like you,” he said to Diana.

“You think?”

“Perfect.”

“Aww.”

Everything would be perfect.

 

 **Epilogue – One Week Later**

“I refuse to use a wheelchair in my own home!”

Elizabeth actually tut-tutted. Neal wasn’t sure how that was possible. “You’ve had major surgery – you will stay off your feet until the doctor says it’s OK.”

Neal would have grumbled that she wasn’t the boss of him, but she really, really was. Peter wheeled him over to his bedroom, where he reluctantly deposited a sleeping Grace into her bassinet. She stirred, her tiny face opening up, eyebrows raised, but she soon settled, little mouth turned down as she suckled in her sleep. 

“Lunch is served!” Elizabeth called.

Peter wheeled Neal over to the table, where they got into a minor slap fight when Peter tried to assist Neal out of the wheelchair. “Jesus, I can walk the two steps to the table, Peter!”

“Fine.”

“Boys, can you act like adults for one afternoon?” El admonished, setting a platter of chicken salad sandwiches down. 

“Some things will never change,” Diana said to her with a laugh, carrying over a bowl of salad and a bag of chips. 

“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” Moz intoned, sniffing fussily at a sandwich.

“I’m looking at the biggest change over here, darlings,” June called from her spot hovering over Grace’s bassinet.

Neal reflected that he didn’t much mind any of the changes in his life.

After lunch, and more importantly, after they’d all had a chance to hold, feed, coo over and yes, even change (thanks, Uncle Mozzie!) the baby, his friends left Neal alone with his new little family member. He was content to sit in the wheelchair beside her bassinet, staring at her as she slept. He supposed this would get old eventually, but he was determined to enjoy it while it lasted. 

“So, I’ve got to go into the office and make a statement – again – but I’ll be back by 7:00, OK?” Diana said, coming up behind him and laying a hand on his head. 

“Sure.” He glanced up at her and smiled shyly; her hand slipped down to his shoulder. They’d rarely been alone together since Neal had awoken in the hospital, hadn’t really had a chance to discuss Diana’s little through-the-door revelation. 

He hadn’t had a chance to let her rescind it, either.

“Listen, you don’t have to come back here if it’s a hassle – Elizabeth left me with a ton of food, and a dozen bottles all made up. We’ll be fine, if –“

“Do you not want me to come back?” She sounded hurt.

“I do, it’s just –“ He sighed and turned the chair so he could face her, though he couldn’t really look at her as he spoke. “I know you said you loved me because you thought I was dying, and I – look, if you need an out, Di, I’ll understand.”

“I don’t want an out, Neal. I meant what I said. I meant it in that moment, and I mean it now.”

“Really?”

“Really. I don’t know what it ultimately means, and we’ll have to work through a lot. But this feeling,” she put her hand on her heart, “I like it, and I want it. I fell in love with _you_ Neal, not your gender. I know that now.”

He smiled.

“We have a lot to work through. Like sleeping arrangements and, uh, _sleeping arrangements_ , but we can do it. I want to be with you, Neal, if you want to be with me.”

There was something perfectly honest about the way she said it, and he knew she would never lie to him, and maybe it wouldn’t work out – they had a lot to deal with – but he was willing to give it a shot. His _heart_ was willing to give it a shot.

“I want to be with you.”

“Good.” She reached out, slipped the first two fingers of her right hand under his chin and kissed him on the lips. The kiss was light, almost chaste, but he thought it contained a lot of promise for their life ahead of them, and he kissed her back softly. 

“Huh,” she said, as she straightened up. Her eyes were still closed, lips still slightly moistened.

“What?”

“Just now – when I kissed you, it was just like kissing –“ She opened her eyes and closed her mouth, not wanting to say anything.

“Just like kissing _her_?” He saw her blush. “Well, that’s OK, because she is me, and I am she and we are all together.”

“Don’t misquote the Beatles at me, Caffrey.”

“I wasn’t even trying.”

“Still, I like it.”

“Goo goo g’joob.”

\---- 

Thank you for your time.


End file.
